I decided to talk about the C word. C from Cancer, C from Chimiotherapy.

Ladies and gentleman, you have in front of your screens a woman who succeeded, yes, she succeeded to get away, to reborn, to rehope.

And for this, congratulations to me.

I saw last days a movie, with a womain who passes through all this and the tragicomedy in her life. It’s hard to keep the head up and the smile on your lips when you don’t turn the heads after you anymore because you know that your aspect is somehow like of a zombie.

More hair you loose, the shorter your skirt gets. So fucking true! yet, how many of us have had the courage to do that, how many of us could just throw away what the others whisper about when you pass near them eyelash free, eyebrow free, hair free?

The pain of a chimioterapy cannot be replaced by nothing else but the pleasure to feel for maybe the last time the woman desired by many, and that short skirt is the only weapon you can have.

I seat with a JD in my hand, no ice of course and I celebrate 3 entire years since „the moment”. What other perfect way to celebrate this that the sweet revenge of that burning noble taste on your throat.

Cheers to me, Babe!